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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25703887">half-vamp boogaloo</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemiPalladium/pseuds/FromSubmarinesToROVs'>FromSubmarinesToROVs (DemiPalladium)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Androids (Detroit: Become Human), Alternate Universe - Vampire, Amnesia, Chronic Illness, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Needs a Hug, Discussions Of Health Issues, Feral Behavior, Feral Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Gen, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Markus is a vampire, Minor Injuries, Purry AU, Self-Indulgent, Simon (Detroit: Become Human) Is Anxious, Soft Markus (Detroit: Become Human), The Jericrew are also vampires, Vampire AU, Vampire Turning, Worldbuilding, a more modern and clean take on vampires, feral Connor rights, non-human vocalizations, not up to my usual standards but y'know what it doesn't have to be, pre-RK1K, reportedly a vampire AU for those who don't like vampire AUs, so is Connor, twilight whomst, vampire biology, vampire venom mechanics, vampires purr because god can't stop me and neither can you</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:48:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,520</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25703887</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemiPalladium/pseuds/FromSubmarinesToROVs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Markus is a vampire who volunteers at a clinic for abused, at-risk, and in-need vampires in Detroit named Jericho. He, alongside regular volunteers North, Simon, and Josh -- also vampires -- make up the Jericho Coven (any close friend/support group comprising mostly of vampires). After closing out several cases against abusive sires (those who turn others without their consent and/or without proper care afterwards), Markus believes their work is done for the time being and that he can have a brief respite from finding feral vampires on the streets.</p><p>Unfortunately (or, for those it affects, very fortunately), he's a magnet for troubled vampires, including one rather mysterious feral wandering the streets for seemingly-impossible lengths of time.</p><p>(pending better title)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor &amp; Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Rose Chapman &amp; Connor, Rose Chapman &amp; Markus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>154</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <br/></p>
</div>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time it happened, to say Markus was <em>unprepared</em> to be bowled over by a feral vampire in semi-broad daylight would be an understatement. He'd always had a penchant for attracting troubled vampires--one of the reasons he was a permanent volunteer at Detroit's vampire clinic--but being rammed into by a frenzied flurry of brown hair and lanky limbs as a pigeon ducked by him to escape pursuit in one of Detroit's green spaces was new.</p><p>The force of the blow knocked him over, but the other body was only on top of his for a second before the stranger leapt backwards with a snarl. Markus' tongue curled as a wave of <em>malnourished</em> and <em>distressed</em> crashed through his nostrils. He didn't even need his scenting organs to tell that whoever this was, they were in a bad way.</p><p>Using slow, deliberate, telegraphed movements, Markus pried himself off the ground and readjusted the messenger bag slung across his shoulders. The newcomer hissed up a storm, but didn't move any closer as Markus reoriented himself and sat up. Being a vampire himself, Markus was suitably certain he could hold his own in a fight against the stranger--but there was no reason to provoke one.</p><p>Markus winced as he took in more of the other vampire's figure. <em>He</em> could afford to get into a fight, but with the acrid stench of hunger and half-rotted venom curdling in his nostrils, this stranger with paper-thin skin and rail-thin limbs most definitely could <em>not</em>.</p><p>It took Markus only a moment to register that this new vampire, mouth drenched in sickly, thinned-out venom and posture stiff, was obviously feral.</p><p>His chest twinged, and slowly, keeping his gaze steadily off the new vampire's while drawing his scent across the roof of his mouth (<em>male, mid-twenties, underfed, hungry, distressed, not a new turn</em>), Markus reached into his medical-grade tote and withdrew a small, plastic crimson bag.</p><p>The stranger caught sight of the object immediately, predator-sharp gaze flickering to trace the blood bag's path. A new round of gummed-up, saliva-like venom trickled down his cheeks as he parted his jaws to scent the item better.</p><p>Markus' medical-grade bag contained a few different blood bags, all donations for the vampire clinic he volunteered at--and all marked for use for vampires who needed help. </p><p>This vampire certainly counted.</p><p>"Hey there, buddy," he coaxed in a low tone, adding in a vampire chitter for good measure, "are you hungry?"</p><p>Obviously a redundant question, but...in the best of cases, ferality in vampires occurs when a new turn is abandoned by their sire--the one who turned them--and they don't have a good supply of blood to sate their newfound hunger. They're dazed, confused, not sure what's going on, hungry, and very prone to lashing out, so they need to be handled with a degree of caution, a calm presence gently soothing their frayed minds back into rationality.</p><p>In older turns, ferality is most common in vampires who have undergone traumatic abuse--physical, emotional, sexual, mental, any or all of the above. They're much more dangerous because their default state is not simply <em>hungry</em> and <em>what's going on I'm scared</em>--while new-turn ferals are willing to open up to someone who can tell them what's happening, old-turn ferals are distinctly in a state of extremely distrustful panic and stress as a result of their abuse, usually at the hands of those they should have been able to trust--mostly their coven or their sire, but on occasion family as well.</p><p>Markus distinctly smelled three or more years of vampirism on this newcomer, so he'd either slipped under the radar of all law enforcement and vampiric outreach efforts undetected for several years, or...</p><p>...Markus had a feeling that this would be a tough case.</p><p>Either way, the first step to coaxing a vampire down from ferality and to begin their healing process was to build up trust, and the quickest way to do that was to offer food.</p><p>And this vampire certainly needed it.</p><p>The brunet vampire shifted his weight forward in response to Markus' soft words, brown fevered gaze darting between Markus' face and the blood bag.</p><p>"Can you come a little closer to me?"</p><p>The vampire hissed, posture going stiff in a way that made Markus' chest clench. His collarbone and shoulders jutted out at almost-emaciated angles, and he just...he just looked so <em>hungry</em>...</p><p>"I'll take that as a no." Mentally noting down <em>possibly lucid enough to understand speech?</em>, as well as all of the vampire's other identifying features and current clothing, Markus decided that this was as far as he was going to get today.</p><p>Now that they'd found this guy, they could ask around, track him down later on and help him heal. That'd--</p><p>Markus winced as another round of sickly-smelling venom ran down the newcomer's mouth. </p><p>--That'd have to be enough of a victory for now.</p><p>Standing up, he tossed the blood bag towards the other vampire gently, and watched as he sat back on his feet, snatched it out of the air, opened his mouth to scent it better, and bit down into it with little fanfare. The vampire easily--and surprisingly neatly--sucked the bag dry, then licked his lips to rid himself of spare drops of blood that didn't make it into his mouth. From the stranger's chest, a small, hesitant, grateful little rusty <em>chirr</em> resounded.</p><p>It took all Markus had to turn away from the scene.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>the jericrew coven chat room</strong>
  </p>
</div><span class="u">Markus</span> found a new feral en route to deliver blood. Mid-twenties, brown hair, brown eyes, male, a hair under 6ft I think, definitely has some venom blockage going on, very skinny<br/><span class="u">Markus</span> in the park on the corner of 3rd and Amistad<p><span class="u">Simon</span> Oh, another? I'll add him to the database asap</p><p><span class="u">North</span> Holy shit you attract these guys like no tomorrow</p><p><span class="u">Markus</span> tell me abt it</p><p><span class="u">North</span> and just when I thought we'd gotten the last of those fucking asshat sires locked up</p><p><span class="u">Markus</span> you're gonna love this even more:<br/>
<span class="u">Markus</span> he's an old turn</p><p><span class="u">North</span> Oh my FUCKING goddess</p><p><span class="u">Simon</span> North</p><p><span class="u">North</span> I</p><p><span class="u">Simon</span> North</p><p><span class="u">North</span> am<br/>
<span class="u">North</span> going<br/>
<span class="u">North</span> to</p><p><span class="u">Simon</span> Notrh</p><p><span class="u">North</span> MURDER<br/>
<span class="u">North</span> whichever bastard abusers<br/>
<span class="u">North</span> Covens sires or otherwise<br/>
<span class="u">North</span> that think they can still get away with this</p><p><span class="u">Simon</span> North, we don't "murder"<br/>
<span class="u">Simon</span> we only supply information to the justice system to get abusers proper jailtime</p><p><span class="u">North</span> I know<br/>
<span class="u">North</span> But it's just so<br/>
<span class="u">North</span> I really thought we'd gotten the lsat of them ://///</p><p><span class="u">Simon</span> Me too :&lt;</p><p><span class="u">Markus</span> I think we got the last of the serial ones<br/>
<span class="u">Markus</span> But well, feral vampires won't stop being a problem until abuse is no longer a problem<br/>
<span class="u">Markus</span> and we're a ways off from that</p><p><span class="u">North</span> I know, I know<br/>
<span class="u">North</span> Just. Why does it have to keep happening</p><p><span class="u">Josh</span> It doesn't, but people are cruel enough to keep it going anway<br/>
<span class="u">Josh</span> so about the blood you're delivering<br/>
<span class="u">Josh</span> *anyway</p><p><span class="u">Markus</span> Yeah<br/>
<span class="u">Markus</span> about that</p><p><span class="u">North</span> you gave him some didn't you<br/>
<span class="u">North</span> cannot say I blame you at all</p><p><span class="u">Markus</span> he's skin and bones, Josh<br/>
<span class="u">Markus</span> and it was just one of the smaller bags</p><p><span class="u">North</span> It was going to help needy vampires anyway<br/>
<span class="u">North</span> I'll go without for a week if that means another vampire on the streets can eat for a day</p><p><span class="u">Josh</span> Okay, I got it<br/>
<span class="u">Josh</span> No need to yell at me<br/>
<span class="u">Josh</span> I don't like this any more than you do, North<br/>
<span class="u">Josh</span> I just gotta keep track of everything</p><p><span class="u">Markus</span> Yeah. See you guys in 10</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The second time it happened, Markus wasn’t any more prepared to be tackled by the local sickly bag of skin and bones. He was possibly even <em>less</em> prepared than the first time, given that it’d been two weeks since he last saw the feral vampire.</p><p>Normally, once Jericho caught wind of a feral out on the streets -- especially with as many details as Markus had provided for them -- finding them again was only a matter of days, a week at most, before the organization could move on to more proactive intervention and a steadier rehabilitation schedule as more trained vampires from Jericho and its sister clinics were sent out to keep track of the feral’s movements and calm them back into rationality so that they could be eased indoors and treated properly.</p><p>A lapse of two weeks or more, Markus came to learn, meant that they were too late. Life on the streets was harsh, and a small blood bag like the one he’d given the one from a few weeks ago wasn’t enough to fully sustain a vampire in good health for weeks on end, much less one in the condition he was in. There was the chance that he’d been successfully hunting, but venom rot made any hunting, even hunting for animals, incredibly dangerous. </p><p>Too little, too late to help those in most need of it.</p><p>It was a harsh reality he had to come to terms with as a volunteer at Jericho. Not every story has a happy ending; they can't save everyone. It’s a fact of life, a hard truth in his line of volunteer work. They strive to change that every day, to help an ever-increasing number of vampires, and root out more and more of the repeat offenders -- sires who turned victims indiscriminately during non-consensual feedings, usually preying on the weak of their society, then leaving them helpless on the streets. Sadly, a few will always slip through the cracks no matter how hard they tried.</p><p>It’d...it'd been a while since the last time this happened personally to him. Since cleaning up the last round of repeat offenders a handful of months ago, he hadn’t actually encountered any situations where he’d lost someone he’d found.</p><p>He needed some time to reacquaint himself with the acute feeling of worthlessness, helplessness, <em>failure</em> digging voids into his chest, so when the two-week mark passed without anyone finding hide nor hair of the feral vampire he’d met in the park on the corner of 3rd and Amistad, he was relieved of all his volunteer work for the next week and was sent home with a pat on his back and a few liters of human blood.</p><p>Human blood was not strictly necessary for vampires. Any kind of mammalian and some kinds of avian blood could make a complete diet for them. That being said, it took concentrated effort to get used to pig, cow, or other animal blood; this -- combined with the fact that human blood was impossible for a vampire to be allergic to -- meant that treating feral vampires with a diet of solely human blood was far and away the best option, even if it was the most expensive.</p><p>Besides that, human blood remained a comfort food for non-feral vampires as well and often helped stabilize their moods, so he was (lovingly) shooed from Jericho’s premises with a few bags of about-to-spoil B- to nurse on while he regained his drive for his work.</p><p>It’d come back -- it always did, he just...he just needed a break to get his head back on the right track.</p><p>...Which was why the second time he ran into the strange, half-dead vampire was possibly more of a shock than the first.</p><p>“<em>You know it’s not over yet,</em>” North’s voice crackled over the telephone cradled on his shoulder as he walked through the park, slowly sipping on his bag of human blood. “<em>We’re still looking out for him.</em>”</p><p>“I know, I know. But I can’t hold on to false hope, North.” The two-week rule wasn’t a hard and fast one, but...the memories that bubbled up weren’t pleasant, so he took a long draw from the blood bag, feeling the mostly-fresh blood flow languid and warm across his mouth like a gentle swell of sunshine and drawing the sweet, homely scent through his nostrils, focusing on savoring the experience.</p><p>“<em>Yeah.</em>” He heard a shift of fabric from behind the screen of his cellphone -- North scrubbing her face with her sleeves, probably. She was a great member of their coven -- hardworking, practical, and impassioned -- but not quite the best at emotional comfort, so their conversation lapsed into silence.</p><p>“<em>...Call or text us if you need anything, I guess.</em>”</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>“<em>Bye.</em>”</p><p>“See you.”</p><p>The call ended with a click, and Markus shoved his phone into one of the water bottle holders on his backpack. He walked a little further, feet thumping on the concrete sidewalk and slight wind whistling through the trees, before settling down on a bench in the middle of the park, slinging his backpack to rest next to him.</p><p>Leaning back, he sealed off his snack and placed it in his bag next to the others, then closed his eyes and let the smells and sounds of the scene roll over him, flooding his hyper-sensitive sense of smell and hearing, both a blessing and a curse to vampires. If he tried, Markus could hear the cars rushing off in the distance like he was standing next to a parade in full swing. He could smell the green of the plants around him and the life of the sparse animals, but also the oil on the streets and gasoline on the wind, the grease from a fast-food place several blocks away and the (admittedly, rather strong) perfume of a lady downwind from him clear across the park.</p><p>So zoned out was he, testing the limits of his vampire-enhanced senses to have some sort of distraction from his current mood, that it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize what was happening. </p><p>The familiar, instinctual heat of <em>hungry, distressed, unhealthy</em> hit his nose. The bushes behind him rustled. Markus’ eyes widened. He whirled around.</p><p>He had a split second to think before a squirrel flew past him and a faceful of skinny, pale flailing limbs slammed into him.</p><p>“What’s going on-- mrrOOMPH!”</p><p>Markus hit the ground with a thud. A snarl ripped through the air above him like nails on a chalkboard, and he cringed, curling back from the noise as much as possible.</p><p>A moment passed, and the weight (that wasn’t as heavy as it should have been) crushing into his ribs lifted. Markus gasped for breath.</p><p>Turning over, with pain blooming from new bruises on his back, Markus slowly peeled his body off the ground. Carefully drawing the air around him across the roof of his mouth to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating or anything, he looked up to see the same skinny, malnourished form that was the reason he came out to the park in the first place.</p><p>“<em>SHssssssssshshshhhh,</em>” spat the other vampire, crouched on the ground, hands digging into the grass and sickly, see-through venom dripping down his face.</p><p>Markus stared, stunned, frozen in his half-crouch; his nose read a familiar <em>male, mid-twenties, underfed, hungry, distressed, not a new turn</em>. The exact same feral vampire he last saw two weeks ago.</p><p>The other vampire fully parted his jaws to let out another volley of snarling but stopped short. Blinking, the vampire paused and focused on scenting the air around him.</p><p>A fevered gaze met Markus’ eyes. The feral vampire clicked his mouth shut and, as if in recognition of Markus’ lack of desire to hurt him, he dropped his defensive stance and sat up, leaning back on his haunches.</p><p>Now that the stranger wasn’t spitting his head off, a part of Markus instinctually recognized the lack of aggression and relaxed his muscles in response. He broke out of his stunned paralysis, peeling himself up off the ground with a wince.</p><p>“<em>Where</em> have you been?” Markus inquired, standing up and dusting himself off. “Nobody’s seen you in weeks.”</p><p>The feral vampire didn’t respond, just shifted and knit his brows, crossing his eyes to stare down at his nose.</p><p>“Figured,” Markus snorted. “We’ve been looking for you, you know. We thought you were dead.”</p><p>The feral vampire stopped analyzing his nose for a moment to shoot Markus an offended look.</p><p>“Face it. Disappearing off the face of the Earth for two weeks gets people concerned about you.”</p><p>Markus turned around and spent some more time dusting off his hands, forcing the worst of the grit and gravel out of his palms. Caught off guard without his supplies (though Markus wasn’t really complaining about seeing the vampire again), there wasn’t a lot he could do right now to help...but a picture of him would probably do wonders for their search efforts and ensure he wouldn’t slip through their fingers again.</p><p>He rifled through his bag, grabbing his phone and opening the camera app. </p><p>The feral vampire eyed the phone warily, squinting his eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and then--</p><p>“<em>Chrrr.</em>”</p><p>Markus’ brain ground to a halt. His mind spontaneously emptied of any higher thought.</p><p>For his part, the feral vampire looked confused at the noise he just produced, glancing down at his lungs. “<em>Chrrr,</em>” he tried again, the soft, mournful trill emanating from his chest. “<em>Chrrr? Chrrr.</em>”</p><p>Markus may or may not have squeaked.</p><p>The feral vampire’s gaze snapped up to Markus’, pinning him with wide brown eyes.</p><p><em>He must have smelled the blood on me from my blood bag</em>, a small, dim part of Markus’ brain supplied.</p><p><em>AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH</em>, supplied the rest of Markus’ mind.</p><p>The feral vampire tilted his head, and his expression melted, mouth going soft and lines disappearing from his face. His eyes went even <em>more</em> doe than they already were.</p><p><em>I didn’t think that was possible,</em> said the one part of Markus’ brain that was still working.</p><p><strong>AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,</strong> said the rest. <strong>AHHHHHHHHH.</strong></p><p>“<em>Chrrr?</em>” Asked the feral vampire, delicate and soft and sad. “<em>Chrrr?</em>”</p><p>In his years volunteering at Jericho, a clinic for battered and abused vampires, Markus has come across vampires among all age groups. As they are ultimately biological in nature, they can reproduce just like humans do. So yes, tiny baby vampires exist.</p><p>And they make <em>unfairly</em> cute noises.</p><p>Especially when making that specific, instinctual little <em>chrrr</em> to beg for food.</p><p>Markus’ chest twisted. On the one hand, the begging was undeniably cute and appealed very, very strongly (as intended) to his protective instincts and empathy. On the other, the vampire was as thin as a birch twig and just about as pale, and the idea that he felt the need to <em>beg</em> from someone who'd already given him food said almost too much about his situation, and that...that wasn't cute.</p><p>The vampire's stomach grumbled -- something Markus could hear from over ten feet away -- and a fresh wave of rotted venom flowed down his chin. "<em>Chrrr, chrrr, chrrr,</em>" he tried, ramping up the frequency of his pleading, and that nearly punched Markus in the gut.</p><p>"Okay, I get it," he relaxed his face and tried to smile reassuringly. "I have just the thing for you."</p><p>The Jericho clinic, thanks in part to their recent takedown of a slew of repeat-offending sires, was running rather light on patients; they had some extra supplies hanging around, about to go bad, and there was no use wasting them. The blood bags Markus had weren't the freshest around, but they were still palatable and germ-free, or else Markus wouldn't be eating them.</p><p>Markus breaks eye contact with the vampire, turning around to set his phone on the park bench and rummage through his backpack for an unopened bag of blood to give to the vampire.</p><p>As soon as he did, the <em>chrrr</em>s stopped.</p><p>It took Markus less than thirty seconds to grab his two spare bags. Though a part of volunteering to work with the at-risk members of their species was to get regularly tested for infected diseases, he didn't think the vampire's situation was desperate enough to warrant him giving his half-eaten bag. Together, the two bags should give him about a liter and a half of medical-quality blood, which was just on the upper limit of what they could give vampires at this level of hunger for a single meal and not have them reject it -- if this vampire could slip under their radar for two weeks, he'd most likely need everything they could safely give him.</p><p>If Markus thought the feral vampire looked pitiful before, he'd obviously seen nothing yet.</p><p>When he turned back to face the vampire, he was no longer sitting up in a pleading position with a suspiciously-perfect straight posture. He hunched over, hands in his lap, staring down at the ground. His stomach rumbled again, and he just let out a low, "yeah, that was too good to be true"-style whimper from his throat in response.</p><p>Markus' stomach dropped to the floor and his arms were suddenly made of lead. Considering everything, it was most likely that this vampire had gone feral due to abuse, but...seeing how deeply the abuse had seeped into his mindset to color even his most-instinctual responses wrenched at his heart physically.</p><p>"<em>Mrrp</em>," he tried catching the vampire's attention again with a hopeful trill, perking up to hold out a bag in each hand. "Mrrp<em>mrrp</em>."</p><p>The vampire doesn't look up, instead curling in on himself.</p><p>"<em>Mrrrr-rrrrpp?</em>" Markus tried again, twitching his lips up to give a sympathetic smile as he popped out his chest to give his trill a more calming effect. </p><p>The vampire shifted off his kneeling position without looking up, flopping back down on the seat of his pants, wrapping his arms around himself with a fine tremble.</p><p>Maybe if Markus went closer, the fresher smell of blood from the bags would become more prominent and entice the other vampire into paying attention to him again. With both .75L bags in tow, he inched forward gradually, careful to make his movements slow and telegraphed both audibly and visually, just in case he looked up.</p><p>He did. With a stiffening body language that slammed right back into his original defensiveness and letting off a soft unsure warning <em>sshhhh</em> around a bubbling mouthful of venom, his pupils nevertheless widened and his eyes tracked the bags of blood, flicking between Markus' movements and the food.</p><p>Markus let out another soothing trill, this time a more standard <em>tswrrrr</em>-like sound used to calm down distressed fledglings -- the more affectionate term for vampiric young.</p><p>After getting to the halfway point between them, Markus bent over and put the two blood bags on the concrete, then backed up a few steps.</p><p>The other vampire scented the air warily with a sniff as more rotted venom dripped down his face. Markus took a few more steps back for good measure, then sat down on the ground and relaxed his posture as much as he could.</p><p>It took the feral vampire a minute -- and Markus flicking his head back to make doubly-sure his stuff hadn't been stolen in the meanwhile -- to approach the offered food.</p><p>He took a few steps. Then, with one more glance towards Markus, he quickly lunged towards the bags and snatched them off the concrete.</p><p>Markus watched as the feral vampire made quick work of both bags, tentatively piercing them with his tender fangs (that were likely hurting from his venom rot), then immediately scarfing them down with wide eyes and little, tiny whimpers that play at Markus' heartstrings.</p><p>He doesn't get any on himself. It's probably less him consciously being neat and more a truly desperate need to lose absolutely none of the nutrients, but from what Markus has seen of his abuse peeking through, it could also be a remnant of that.</p><p><em>Definitely has a history of abuse,</em> he mentally noted down. <em>North's gonna have a field day tracking down this asshat.</em></p><p>Before long, the two bags were completely drained of blood, nursed clean of any visible redness.</p><p>He looked up to see Markus, smiling encouragingly and making no move towards him. His eyes widened when he attempted to move forward, and he put a hand on his stomach. Though Markus couldn't <em>quite</em> see his ribs through his old, dingy worn shirt, he could tell it was a close call.</p><p>The vampire sat back on his haunches again, blinking, looking down at his abdomen.</p><p>Markus stayed still, content to just getting the vampire more used to his presence.</p><p>"That probably feels strange, doesn't it." It didn't take a genius to figure out that this vampire hadn't had this much food in a while. "But you'll be feeling better in no time, I promise."</p><p>As if to challenge that assertion, the vampire cocked his head, narrowed his eyes at Markus, and cast a meaningful glance back at his backpack.</p><p>Markus let out a small laugh. "Nope," he said with a wry smile and shake of his head. "You've drained me dry. No more for you. You wouldn't keep it down anyway."</p><p>The vampire scrunched up his nose at that, letting out a little grumble of protest.</p><p>They both remained there, sitting on the floor of an obscure park in downtown Detroit, for some minutes; Markus, staying with the feral vampire to help him slowly return to himself, and the feral vampire, staying there to let his body process the influx of clean nutrients and calories he's just received.</p><p>They looked at each other for a long moment before Markus kindly broke eye contact.</p><p>Eventually, the other vampire stood up, and from the disoriented and sensitive look that crossed his face, Markus has just about stayed his welcome -- he wouldn't be getting any further with him today. As much as Markus hated watching one of his people return to the busy streets, it was the best option for now. He's alive and can be helped, and that's what matters.</p><p>The feral vampire descended back into the underbrush after a grateful glance back at Markus and a quick scent of the air, leaving behind his two now-empty plastic blood bags. Once he'd fully departed the scene, Markus collected the two bags for proper disposal, then gathered his things.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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    <strong>now texting the jericrew coven group chat</strong>
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</div><span class="u">Markus</span> You wouldn't believe who I just saw!! :D :D<p><span class="u">Josh</span> pics or it didn't happen</p><p><span class="u">Markus</span> .<br/>
<span class="u">Markus</span> about that</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>special thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeltaPenrose/profile">Delta</a> for the help with wording a few parts in this chapter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Simon has been upgraded from volunteer to someone who's fully employed at Jericho! Also, some Connor POV this time. The plot thickens™</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This was not the first time a blackout had happened to him. It wasn’t the second, third, fourth, or fifth — some years ago, he documented them religiously, with the fervor of someone convinced that any minor detail would be the solution, the key to a diagnosis or the hint of an answer or <em>something</em>. But as the years went by and the local doctor turned into the local dermatologist turned into not-so-local neurologists and gastroenterologists and all the inconclusive tests blurred together like reading a half-dozen cookie-cutter supernatural YA books, so too did the individual blackout events slur into a vague, murky sluice that sludged into a pattern that ruled his life with an iron fist.</p><p>Connor groaned as he woke up, uncurling and peeling himself up off the (thankfully non-sticky) ground, grasping around through the pain in his shoulder for some kind of sign to indicate where he was. Cold pricked at his palms and  fingertips, and a familiar roughness chafed at his skin. Kitchen tile. <em>His</em> kitchen tile. (Or <em>hers</em>.) Okay, that was a good sign — he’d made it home this time.</p><p>Not always a given with his blackouts, especially since moving. </p><p>Gingerly, he propped himself up on his good shoulder, moving slowly — without any idea of where he <em>was</em> in the room, he learned quickly that waking up slowly was the best way to avoid concussions or any more injuries.</p><p>Daylight streamed through the frosted glass of the kitchen’s window, but that meant little — the sun in a medium-ish apartment wasn’t a very reliable measure of time.</p><p>As he straightened himself out, gradually sitting up, his head — protected by his good hand — bumped into one of his cabinets. It wasn’t painful, but the surprise had him hissing out in a strange, guttural, choked sound. He cringed. It was the hissing equivalent of painfully voice-cracking mid sentence, and something in the back of his throat that refused to stay where it was supposed to be shifted until it clicked back into its normal place.</p><p>More aware of where he was in the kitchen now, he slowly lowered himself back onto the cabinet door, using it as a backrest. The knob on the door dug into his ribs, so he leaned over a little to the left, and his good left shoulder hit another one of the cabinet doors, at a 90-degree angle to the others. Oh. He was in the corner. Even better — he knew exactly where he was now.</p><p>Tentatively giving his lower limbs test-wiggles and being pleasantly surprised when no more bites of sharp pain flared up (he’d long since gotten used to pale skin that bled when someone looked at him wrong, never mind the bruising), just a dull fatigue that he was very familiar with, he awkwardly shuffled himself around to rest his upper body on the hard wood of the cabinetry. Then, he rested, forcing all his muscles to relax and his diaphragm to draw in deep breaths from his nose. His head lolled onto his left shoulder and he stayed there for a moment, forcing himself to focus on nothing but breathing.</p><p>A few minutes later, he blinked his eyes open. Well, not <em>open</em> open, because they already were open, he’d opened them the moment he came to, but now that he’d been awake for a while, it finally cleared up enough for him to make out his surroundings instead of a strange world of shadows and shapes and colors-that-aren’t-colors.</p><p>He checked his environment first, taking stock of the room. Yep, it was the kitchen in his apartment — he could see the securely dicsconnected coffee pot and the specialty-custom-printed tea rags on the other counter, what could be vaguely classified as a “gift” from mother dearest Amanda.</p><p>With his surroundings confirmed to be safe, he lolled his chin down to take initial stock of his body.</p><p>His legs didn’t look too bad — he still had both his shoes and socks on, and his jeans weren’t ripped to shreds or clogged with mud, maybe just a little more scratched than they were before the blackout, scruffed slightly more along the hems and knees. Aside from his sore right shoulder that had a distinct “bruise, not wound” feel to it, there were no obvious patches of blood on his clothes or corresponding pinches of pain on his body, and he couldn’t feel anything wet. All surprisingly good signs, considering his sketchy history with personal safety during blackouts. </p><p>(Though, really, any time he woke up without bile crawling up his throat and the back of his mind screaming at him to get to an ER for a tetanus shot, or — one notably terrifying time — rabies testing, he had to consider a victory.)</p><p>Using his left hand, he fished around in his back pocket for his phone. It hit the touchscreen readily, which was another good sign — no need to spend hours attempting to track its location, or, even worse, dealing with asking Amanda for a new one. As he withdrew it, he squinted his eyes and wracked his brain, trying to wring out any details from the memories before his blackout. He turned his phone on. The last time he checked a clock was —</p><p>12:45 P.M. on November 15th stared back at him from the screen.</p><p>Connor blinked.</p><p>— the last time he checked a clock was 11:07 A.M. on November 15th.</p><p>He unlocked his phone, navigating with a shaky hand to his messages app. Nope, that wasn’t a mistake — all (two) of his messages were dated to today, with timestamps corroborating the evidence.</p><p>Considering the twenty-ish minute lapse between checking the clock and the blackout settling in and the (estimated) ten minutes he spent waking up, his blackout had only lasted about an hour.</p><p>An <em>hour</em>.</p><p>One. Single. Hour.</p><p>Something bright and weak fluttered in his chest. His first blackout since moving to Detroit — about three weeks ago now — only lasted six hours, and his second — one week ago — had barely lasted three. Everything before that had been on the order of eight to twelve, and the most terrifying one (coincidentally, also the one that resulted in a painful series of rabies shots) had lost him an entire five days from blackout alone, never mind the days in the hospital being treated for all the wounds and injuries and infections he’d accrued, and basically killed his hopes of completing college.</p><p>Maybe — maybe without Amanda around — maybe he was getting <em>better</em>.</p><p>He bit his lip, feeling his sore teeth and gums protest the movement, and bitterly suppressed the thought as soon as it came up, bashing in the bright and weak and <em>painful</em> thing fluttering in his ribcage for its own good.</p><p>The last time he had hope like that...either he <em>was</em> getting better, or he wasn’t.</p><p>And, realistically, he probably wasn’t.</p><p>Chronic conditions like this don’t just clear up because you’ve changed scenery, he told himself, sore teeth biting harder into his lips, putting his bad arm on his lap with a flop. Maybe the city was just incredibly confusing to whatever his blacked-out self was doing, or maybe, with more people around to see him, he’d miraculously hit three for three on kind strangers helping him out, reducing the time he’d spent doing whatever it was he did. He stopped biting his lip before he started bleeding, and across his teeth he felt the tacky grime of dried spittle on his chin.</p><p>Connor shook himself slightly and levered himself up slowly off the ground with his good arm. The ache in his bones told him he needed at least another five minutes, but it’d been saying that for years at this point. What he <em>really</em> needed to do was text his boss and let her know what happened.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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    <strong>Now Texting: Ms. Rose Chapman (Boss)</strong>
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</div><span class="u">Connor Stern</span> Ms. Chapman: I sincerely apologize for my impromptu and unauthorized absence from work today. Normally, my blackouts are telegraphed 24-48 hours before the event witj<p>Connor cringed as the stone of the countertop bit into his side and made him hit “enter” instead of “backspace”.</p><p><span class="u">Connor Stern</span> *with the symptoms we discussed on my first day (nausea, inability to keep food down, increased sensitivity to smells and sounds, insomnia, etc.), but I have reason to believe the sudden change in environment has temporarily thrown off this rhythm. My blackout began circa 11:20 A.M. this morning and I awoke in my kitchen at approximately 12:30 P.M. this afternoon. I can be back at work around 1:15 P.M. this afternoon at the earliest.</p><p>A beat. He leaned heavily on his good side for support from the countertop. Despite the warm, contented feeling that his blackouts always left somewhere in his abdomen (the one good thing about them), a surge of bile rose up his throat as the minutes dragged on. He could make it to work by 1:15 if she asked him. His knees shook slightly. He <em>could</em>. It’d be like...he’d just accidentally taken an extra-long lunch break. Normal people did that, right? Lose track of time?</p><p><span class="u">Ms. Rose Chapman (Boss)</span> thank you for letting me know :(<br/>
<span class="u">Ms. Rose Chapman (Boss)</span> how about you take some time and come back for 4-close?</p><p><span class="u">Connor Stern</span> Of course.</p><p>Connor didn’t sigh in relief — that wouldn’t be an appropriate response to inconveniencing his boss — but he did let his posture drop and felt himself shift more weight onto the countertop for support. The stone dug deeper into his spine, and for a moment, Connor wished the weight of his slight frame would be enough to push it the hair further it needed to crack, the taste of dried saliva bitter on his tongue. At least <em>then</em> he’d have a problem doctors knew how to fix.</p><p>He took a few more breaths, inhaling as deeply as his diaphragm allowed, and pushed himself off the counter. Three hours. He had three hours to recover.</p><p>A sore, bony hand reached out and turned on the kitchen sink’s faucet, and he halfheartedly slapped some cold water on his face to wake himself up a bit more, rubbing at his chin and cheeks to get the worst of the dried spit off them.</p><p>The first thing he needed to do was check himself more thoroughly for injuries. No immediately-obvious spots of pain were a good sign, but there must be some form of adrenaline running through his blacked-out systems — he’d had days where he thought he was fine at first, only to check the mirror to discover long gashes or extensive bruising he was only peripherally aware of.</p><p>He glanced down, checking both the kitchen floor and his clothes — halfheartedly poking aside his (still intact, and that made the corner of his lips peek up) jacket — for any splotches of blood. A few moments of buffering later came up with nothing, so, shaking, he edged his way over to the bathroom.</p><p>When the first round of tests from the (first) neurologist came back either normal or inconclusive, Connor realized with a sinking gut that his problem might be more permanent than he considered (<em>wanted to</em> consider) up to that point. After that, with each blackout and subsequent awakening, he grit his teeth and worked out a plan that he could follow without thinking too much about it. Check surroundings, check for any immediate wounds, check elapsed time, make any necessary changes to the schedule, get to a bathroom to assess injuries further, do any needed patching up, eat as much food as possible, head to bedroom, and pass out.</p><p>With only a small amount of fumbling — the switches were just a little bit off from their positions in Amanda's house, and he hadn't had the time to properly adjust his muscle memory to compensate — the bathroom light flicked on and Connor stared at his face, thin and hollow and drawn and easily torn, taking a moment to check for any wounds. He examined his neck as closely as he could, leaning over the counter, then his collarbones and the tops of his shoulders. Using his good arm, he felt along his abdomen and the inward dip of his stomach for any bruises or wounds, counting his ribs as his fingers traced them. Nothing so far, just the sore right arm.</p><p>Connor's hand hit one of his jacket's breast pockets, and he frowned, brow furrowing. He didn't remember putting anything in there...</p><p>He felt along the outside of the jacket carefully, making sure there were no sharp edges in the pocket before sticking his hand in to grab at the items. Cardboard and plastic and a piece of heavier-than-normal paper only grew his confusion before he dumped them all on the counter.</p><p>One medium-sized roll of off-brand Ace bandages, sealed perfectly in its cardboard packaging; one small, travel-sized package of bandaids, completely unopened; and one business card for Simon Newhaven: Executive Vice President of Outreach Programs, Jericho Clinic for Homeless, At-Risk, and Abused Vampires, complete with contact information and the clinic's address.</p><p>The business card was the easiest object to explain; he must have grabbed one from the bookstore — Rose was a well-known supporter of anyone in need, and that often included vampires. After a blackout, he tended to have trouble remembering the ten to twenty minutes leading up to the event, and he'd been meaning to grab one of Jericho's business cards for further research.</p><p>The first time he saw them, sitting on the checkout counter without a care in the world when he went in for his interview, he'd immediately flinched, then felt a stab of guilt in his gut for doing so. He knew <em>intellectually</em> that vampires were people too, as much a person as any human was, but Amanda insisted— no (<em>don't blame Amanda for something you should be able to control</em>), some part of <em>himself</em> insisted that vampires were all <em>predators</em>, were all <em>dangerous</em>, were all <em>monsters</em> instead of people just trying to get by. But that wasn't right, and he <em>knew</em> it wasn't right, and he was hoping that some research into the topic would shed light on the situation and maybe help him get rid of his bad attitude somehow.</p><p>...Eugh. Connor's head swam from the sudden influx of weird emotions, and the bathroom lurched around him; he was much too dizzy to contemplate his mixed feeling about vampires right now.</p><p>He must have just grabbed the card during his pre-blackout phase. Not too mysterious. His eyes focused on the stranger items — the bandage and the bandaids.</p><p>Sometimes, if he felt like a blackout would be particularly bad, he tucked bandaids and bandages into his pockets to give his waking-up-self immediate access to first-aid. Generally, though, particularly-bad blackouts meant particularly-bad beforehand symptoms meant particularly-precise timings, and this one happened out of nowhere; there's no way he would have thought to give himself extra first-aid supplies outside of the kit in his backpack. These weren't the brands he used, anyway; the bandages and bandaids both had "latex-free" emblazoned on their packaging, and, without an allergy, he got latex-free and latex-full as the lowest price point dictated. They also looked like they were from some sort of medical supplies store for hospitals or something, and he, obviously, only had access to drugstores or supermarkets.</p><p>...Maybe the “kind strangers” theory had some weight to it. Depending on what he did during a blackout, he could probably be interpreted as homeless; maybe someone saw him rough up his shoulder and gave him some supplies for it, with some bandaids for good measure.</p><p>Things to ponder when the world stopped spinning.</p><p>For now, though, he finished examining himself for injuries, only finding the bad right shoulder, some stubborn grit in his palms, and a scrape that, miraculously, didn’t break the skin on his right arm. After washing off his face and treating his injuries (using his own supplies — he didn’t actually know how trustworthy the bandages were), he grabbed the business card and went back to the kitchen to shovel some leftovers into his mouth — he’d learned long ago that the only time he had an appetite anymore was right after a blackout (a small mercy; he couldn’t put on weight to save his life normally) — then he set an alarm for 3:15 P.M. on his phone and headed to his bedroom, still using the wall as a crutch.</p><p>Amanda...Amanda never liked that he couldn’t sleep normally, couldn’t find it in himself to enjoy a straightened-out bed and neat pillows, even before...before. But even if the apartment was under her name and her paycheck, she wasn’t here right now to judge him, so he flopped with a little hop-step into the tangled nest of pillows and blankets.</p><p>Getting to a good position that didn’t put stress on his sore arm took him a minute. Before nodding off to sleep, he withdrew the business card again, checking the back for anything interesting on a whim. Nothing, but it was worth a shot.</p><p>This close to it, he got a distinct whiff of…<em>something</em> on the card. It smelled like — it <em>smelled</em>, more than a piece of paper kept in a bookstore had any right to. Familiar, somehow…? He tried taking a deeper breath, but just as he did, something in the roof of his mouth <em>shifted</em>, snapping into position like the thing in the back of his throat. </p><p>The scent disappeared with it.</p><p>A painful, broken growl scratched against the back of his throat. Tossing the card off the bed with a huff, Connor curled up tighter in his wrappings and relaxed his muscles. He had to be up in just about two hours. He could worry about the card and its not-scent later. Was probably just a side-effect of his blackout — his senses were wonky for the first few hours after waking up, anyway.</p><p>With that thought stored away, Connor, with a full stomach and a strange warmth blooming in his abdomen, easily drifted off to sleep.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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    <strong>— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —</strong>
  </p>
</div>Rose’s kind eyes softened as her phone buzzed in her hand, arms perched on the help counter of her bookstore. She sighed, typed out a message, and put it down.<p>“It looks like Connor had another blackout, the poor thing,” she shook her head, dark curls bobbing. “And I was really hoping to introduce you two today.”</p><p>Markus, standing in front of the counter with a few books tucked under his arm, frowned, leaning forward. “A blackout?”</p><p>Her voice went quiet. “It’s not my place to tell you the details, but he’s...he’s been struggling with some health issues.” Not uncommon for those working at Rose’s bookstore. “He had a sudden episode earlier today; he went home to recover.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Markus responded, soft. “Is...everything okay?”</p><p>“From what I can tell, it thankfully wasn’t too severe, and he says he can be back at work soon, but that boy would rather walk on a broken leg than inconvenience anyone,” she snorted, somewhere between concerned and amused. “I’ll put him on closing and give him the next few hours to get himself in order. You can stop by some other time to meet him.”</p><p>“Of course,” Markus nodded. Working with his kind’s most vulnerable, he knew that health came before — far before — introductions. He shifted the books out from under his arm, placing them on the counter. “Then I guess it’ll just be these today.”</p><p>“I’ll get you checked out.” Rose booted up the checkout machine. “Any news from Jericho? I know you lunch break lasts longer than this.”</p><p>“Simon got promoted recently,” he offered, taking the excuse to linger and relax with a roll of his shoulder.</p><p>“Congratulations!” A smile lit up Rose’s face. “What position did he get?”</p><p>“Executive Vice President of Outreach. I can give you some of his new business cards for the store if you’d like.”</p><p>“That would be wonderful. Anything else you’re willing to disclose that I wouldn’t get from the newsletter?”</p><p>Markus dug around in his pocket for his wallet and shrugged. “Things have been quiet. We’re running light on patients right now, actually.”</p><p>Rose chuckled. “I bet North’s just about climbing the walls.”</p><p>“You don’t know the half of it,” Markus grinned. “But she knows it’s for the best.”</p><p>“No news is the best news in your line of work.”</p><p>“Well, some news.”</p><p>“Oh?” Rose gestured for him to use his credit card, quirking a brow. “Your total is $38.65, by the way.”</p><p>“Sounds good.” Markus put his card into the device’s chip scanner. “We have one new case we’re working on — or, one we’re trying to work on.” The machine beeped at him, and he removed his card. “The feral I told you about earlier.”</p><p>“Did you find him again?”</p><p>“Just this morning, actually. Got some food in him and even managed to give him some supplies for the road — he looked like he banged up his shoulder really bad somehow.”</p><p>Rose grabbed the receipt from the ancient cash register and plopped it in the bag, then handed the books over to Markus. “Thanks. He didn’t respond too well to being touched, though. He must come from somewhere abusive — I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone startle quite that badly when brushing fingers.”</p><p>“That reminds me of Connor, actually.” Finished with her task, Rose resumed leaning casually over the counter, eyes sad. “Bumped into him once on accident and he nearly jumped straight into a bookshelf. At first I thought it might’ve been just me, but then Laci told me a customer tapped him on the shoulder and he started shaking so bad she thought he might’ve been starting an episode of something, so she sent him to the break room and he took a full twenty minutes to come out again.”</p><p>“...Wow,” Markus replied, soft. </p><p>Rose leaned forward. “Just between you and me, I’m glad he’s got his own place now. I met his adoptive mother, and she’s a nasty piece of work. Took one look at your business cards, and…frankly, I’m surprised they didn’t evaporate on the spot.” She shook her head. “Some part of me wonders if his health issues aren’t just all stress from having to deal with that woman for any length of time.”</p><p>She leaned back as Markus frowned. “But I didn’t tell you that — he won’t hear a bad word about her. I’m hoping that’ll clear up with some distance between them, but he’s still getting used to living on his own. He managed to get a featherduster jammed in his oven the other day and I’ll never know how, just that he texted me while I was opening up shop that he might be late for his shift due to “spontaneous and unpredictable happenstance involving the combination of incompatible household appliances”.”</p><p>Markus snorted with a smile. “Sounds like he fits right in at a bookstore.”</p><p>“In the dictionary section, maybe!” They laughed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course, but — really, Connor needs some friends more his age to hang out with. If it doesn’t work out between you two, it doesn’t work out, but I think you guys could get along pretty well. Maybe you’ll meet him next time.”</p><p>“Connor does sound interesting,” Markus allowed, finally finding the bundle of new business cards to hand to Rose. </p><p>She took them, picking the bundle up and aligning them with a few drops on the countertop. “I’d bet the world that he could give you a run for your money on literary trivia night at the library!”</p><p>He grinned, bouncing a little in place. "I can't wait to meet him, then. It was nice talking to you, Rose."</p><p>"It was nice talking to you too! You've gotta stop by more often, especially now that you've <em>told</em> me you don't have an excuse anymore."</p><p>"<em>Well</em>..."</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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    <strong>the jericrew coven chat room</strong>
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</div><span class="u">Markus</span> Rose says congrats on the promotion, Simon!<p><span class="u">Simon</span> Thanks I regret everything</p><p><span class="u">North</span> You'll do fine, Si<br/>
<span class="u">North</span> just give it a few to sink in</p><p><span class="u">Simon</span> anxiety says otherwise</p><p><span class="u">Markus</span> ...I also might have told her we don't have any excuses to not visit her more often</p><p><span class="u">Josh</span> Youmean *you* said something about Jericho being less busy and you dragged us all into it, huh</p><p><span class="u">Simon</span> oh hey, my first job perk</p><p><span class="u">North</span> none of you can appreciate a good book and that's fact</p><p><span class="u">Markus</span> ^^^^</p><p><span class="u">Josh</span> OH visit her at the bookstore and not the farm<br/>
<span class="u">Josh</span> You may live</p><p><span class="u">North</span> none of you appreciate how fun farmwork can be either</p><p><span class="u">Simon</span> North *please* the last time we visited her at the farm I ended up the same color as the beets</p><p><span class="u">Josh</span> and it was hilarious</p><p><span class="u">North</span> sucks to suck</p><p><span class="u">Markus</span> I don't think you can get sunburned in a bookstore, Simon</p><p><span class="u">Simon</span> you know my skin would find a way to</p><p><span class="u">Markus</span> that's fair</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>fun fact: Simon gets a lot of flak for being such a stereotypical vampire! He has a very "vampy" last name and pale skin + gangly limbs + easy-burn skin + hereditary garlic/onion intolerance + always running cold + complications during a venom gland infection leaving him unable to retract his fangs entirely = a pretty "stereotypical" vampire (which, of course, makes him anxious™ about his looks and his position at Jericho) :,)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>for the valid fam discord server</p><p>also yell at me <a href="https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm">at the New ERA discord here</a></p><div class="center"></div></blockquote></div></div>
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